


Aberama's Daughter

by thewestmeadow



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: F/M, Father-daughter dynamic, Father-son dynamic, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Romani & Travelers, Supportive Relationship, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-02-27 04:19:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewestmeadow/pseuds/thewestmeadow
Summary: Esmeralda Gold is Aberama's most beautiful daughter, and also the most deadly. Set during the vendetta of season 4, Aberama and Esmeralda are hired to fight for the Shelby family against the Changrettas. Will Esmeralda prove herself to be a champion in her father's eyes, like her brother Bonnie?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We haven't yet met Aberama's daughter, Esmarelda Gold, in the show. I just loved the idea of a woman who is as feared and respected as her infamous father. This is what I imagine the daughter of a renowned hitman who has followed in her father's footsteps to be like.
> 
> This fic will be 4 chapters long, updated weekly.

It was before dawn, and Esmeralda Gold slept deeply. Outside the protective wooden wagon in which she lay, all was silent. The caravan was perched at the edge of the woods. All the campfires had long ago been doused, and the murmur of life within the wagons had given way to sleep.

Without disturbing the silence, Aberama Gold stepped lightly through camp, leading two horses by their reins. His steed, a white stallion, glowed like a pale flame even in the dead of night. The other, a dark seal brown mare, nearly blended into the shadows. 

Esmeralda stirred at the sound of horses approaching along with her father’s booted step. 

“Esmeralda,” came his low voice through a crack in the door. “It’s time to go.”

She stretched and sighed, but quickly put aside her reluctance to get out of bed and dressed in the dark. After lacing up her tall leather boots and strapping on her hunting knife, she pushed open the door. 

Aberama was leaning against the wagon outside, the ember of his cigarette lighting his face. As Esmeralda descended the steps, he shrugged a gun off his shoulder and passed it to her. 

“Get any rest?” he asked as he mounted the white horse. 

Esmeralda climbed atop its darker companion, swinging the gun over her shoulder. “A little.” 

They started out of the camp, winding through the tall dark trees and onto the moors where the land rolled like hills of charcoal. 

“Didn’t stay up late drinking whiskey?” he probed, drawing on his cigarette. 

“I didn’t drink at all,” she countered. “Johnny knew what we were doing today.” 

Aberama nodded. “Good. You’ll need your wits about you. And everything else.”

Esmeralda straightened her shoulders, looking grimly over the land. Soon, the sun began to rise along the rim of the world, with the sky still dark behind the two riders. Esmeralda’s face glowed. She was, indeed, Aberama’s most beautiful daughter— almost elfin, with a strong but lithe body and a curious face. Her hair was the same sable blonde as her father’s, but her eyes were golden brown, with dark, slender brows. 

Aberama flicked away his cigarette and rode beside her for a while in silence. Even when riding, he wore his best attire: a long brown coat over a wool vest, shirt and tie. His brown hat slanted over his face, shielding his eyes from the coming sun. Esmeralda, too, was dressed well, in equestrian clothes. She wore a blue wool jacket and moss green scarf with black riding pants, but no hat adorned her golden-brown hair. 

“The Italians aren’t fucking around,” Aberama said after a while. “Tommy said the terms of the vendetta were no women and no children. But you can bet these men won’t hesitate to shoot a woman if she’s shooting at them.”

Esmeralda nodded. “But they won’t see us.”

“No. They better not.” He glanced sidelong at his daughter, riding through the countryside with him as they had done a thousand times before. Yet this time the gun on her shoulder wouldn’t be used to shoot regular game. 

Esmeralda had long been a protégée in Aberama’s eyes. Though her brother Bonnie excelled at boxing, he was no assassin. He lacked the composure, the keen observation, and the grace that Aberama saw in his daughter. Esmeralda was in her twenties now, and her younger sisters didn’t possess the twisted sentiment towards Aberama’s profession that Esmeralda did. She had inherited his charm, his intelligence, and a certain dark mysticism from her mother, who had passed years ago. She was both a ghost and a wild spirit; a natural heir to her father’s trade.

Aberama saw the city of Birmingham looming, a coal-black smear along the skyline. He lit up another cigarette and passed one to Esmeralda. 

“Enjoy it,” he said in a light but warning tone. She gave an ironic grin and struck the match on the rough leather of her saddle. 

* * *

 

The hitman and his daughter were in place hours before the Italians were meant to arrive. They took their place high up in an abandoned factory, overlooking the street crossing where the initial ambush would take place. Some of Tommy’s people would create a distraction, while the two snipers dealt the final blow from above. 

They lay on their stomachs a few feet away from each other, taking aim at different angles. Aberama still wore his hat, appearing put-together as always. Esmeralda felt calm, her mind sharp and clear. Her father had trained her for this, and she had grown up around his skill and experience. Some of the Shelbys and the other Romani families spoke of the Italians with an unusual amount of fear. But she paid no attention to them, doubting that anyone could be more terrifyingly merciless than her own father. 

The hours passed. The snipers breathed in, breathed out, slow and even, their weapons like extensions of their gaze. Finally the black car came into view. Esmeralda glanced at her father to gauge his reaction. 

“That’s it,” he said. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

A second vehicle shot into the intersection from the cross street, blocking traffic, and the black car slammed on brakes. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the black car rapidly backed up, and gunfire erupted from one of the buildings along the street.

“That’s not us,” Aberama uttered with some concern.

The windows of the stalled car shattered, and men in long coats suddenly flew out of the black car. As soon as the first man appeared, both Esmeralda and Aberama fired. Four Italians were locked in battle with the men on the street. Gunfire from the adjacent building had found Aberama and Esmeralda. The window by Esmeralda’s head exploded. She winced, but kept her aim. Her father brought down one of the Italians in the street. Now the others were aiming up at them. 

Esmeralda was locked on one of the men, her finger tight on the trigger, when a streak of pain ripped across her upper arm. She jerked back suddenly, crying out and dropping her firearm. 

Aberama swiftly fired two more shots, then flew to Esmeralda and covered her with his body, dragging her away from the shot-out windows. Esmeralda’s heart was pounding, her arm searing with pain.

A sheen of sweat covered her father’s face as he swiftly examined her wound. She watched him with mounting panic, but his calculating eyes gave nothing away. 

“Fuck,” he swore, startling her.

“What about the Italians?” she hissed through gritted teeth. 

“We’re done here.” He yanked a handkerchief out of his pocket and knotted it tight around her arm. Esmeralda’s stomach dropped as she realized they were going to fail the job for which Tommy Shelby had hired them. Her guilty thoughts were interrupted as her father pulled her to her feet and looked her dead in the eye.

“Run.”

She ran, surging with adrenaline, everything piercingly clear. Aberama stayed close to her, holding her arm as they flew down the stairs and into the street. The horses were tied close by, and people fled as they saw the two of them coming. They made a frightening sight— Aberama with two guns on his shoulder and Esmeralda blotted with blood. Gunfire popped from the next block. People in the streets yelled out and ran.

Esmeralda was losing a lot of blood. She cursed as she saw it dripping down her arm, and doubted if she could even mount her horse. Just as she was thinking this, Aberama reached down from his horse and pulled her up to sit in front of him. He lassoed her steed, and together they took off down the streets of Birmingham. 

She could hear her father speaking soothingly to her in Romani, but she couldn’t piece together his words. She grew lightheaded. Distantly, she thought of how she hadn’t ridden with him like this since she was a little girl. There couldn’t have been a safer place in the world, Esmeralda thought. Then she lost consciousness. 

* * *

 

When Esmeralda awoke, she was back in the countryside. The air was still and quiet but for the crackling of campfires in the dusk. She lay in her wagon, alone, listening to the soft voices outside. When she sat up, she found her arm wrapped in blood-soiled bandages. It pained her to move. The events of the day hit her all at once, and she was flooded with embarrassment and regret.

“Think I heard her stirring,” came a familiar voice from outside. The door creaked slowly open and Johnny Dogs peered in, his eyes dark with concern. Yet when he saw her sitting upright, they flickered with relief.

“Evenin’, darlin’,” he said, taking off his cap and coming over to sit by her. “Back from the hunt, aye?”

“Some fuckin’ hunt,” she murmured.

He nodded towards her wound. “Let’s see it, then.”

She scooted closer to him and held out her arm. Johnny clucked his tongue as he examined it.

“Fuckin’ Italians. Ah, well. You’ll make ‘em pay.”

He gave a little grin as he began to carefully unwrap the soiled bandages. Esmeralda’s eyes flickered up to his face as he worked.

“Did I miss dinner?”

“No, lass. Think I’d let them eat without our queen? No, no.”

He laughed, and Esmeralda couldn’t help but smile a little. Johnny Dogs owned her heart, without a doubt, and though the man feared her father as much as anyone, he respected Aberama deeply, and thetwo never had an unkind word to say to each other.

“I fucked up today.”

Johnny peered at the deep wound that grazed her arm and sighed.

“Them Italians,” he said slowly, “They’re somethin’ else. Another league entire. Just about as conniving as you and your old dad.”

He took the fresh bandages from her bedside and began wrapping her wound, hands gentle and deft. 

“Don’t think I was ready for that. Dad had to abandon on account of me.” Her face was downcast. 

“Now, now,” Johnny said firmly, “If I know you, I know you did your best. No man or woman in this camp would have the nerve to go with Aberama Gold on a hit.”

“What will Tommy think?”

Johnny went quiet, tying off her new bandages and checking his work. “Well, Tommy will just have to understand. This is the Italians, after all.”

Exactly, Esmeralda thought darkly, which is why Tommy had hired the best hitman in the region for the job.

“Where’s Dad, anyway?”

“He’s coming for dinner. Probably talked to Tommy by now.” 

Johnny sat back on his heels, looking her firm in the eye. 

“Don’t you be nervous about seeing your old man. He ain’t angry. Scared, aye. But not angry.”

Johnny stood and held out his hand for her. She took it, letting him hoist her up. 

“Let’s get you a good home cooked meal,” he said.

“What did you make?” she asked, letting herself relax slightly at the thought of dinner.

“Good old fashioned taters and rabbit, love.”

* * *

 

After dinner, Aberama came to sit with Esmeralda by the campfire. She wore a simple white blouse which concealed her wound, and her long golden hair was tied back loosely. She leaned forward, gazing into the fire as her father lit a cigarette. 

“Changed your wrappings?” Aberama asked.

Esmeralda nodded. “Johnny came by.”

“Well. I spoke to Tommy. He’s not pleased. We’re to expect a visit from him tomorrow.”

Esmeralda gazed furiously into the fire, heavy with guilt and embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“No use pitying yourself. This is business. We were hired to do a job and we failed. Only natural for an employer to show his face after an incident. Besides, he wants to see that you’re alright.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever met Tommy Shelby.”

“No.” Aberama drew on his cigarette, eyes lowered. “He’s a scoundrel. If you’ve any intention of marrying Johnny Dogs, better not give Tommy the time of day. Though there’s nothing to be done if he does take a shine to you.”

“But he hired us. Like you said, we’re his employees.”

“Doesn’t matter one damn bit. You wait and see. Nothing can get between Tommy Shelby and the object of his desire.”

“You sure? My money’s on Johnny,” she joked. But Aberama wasn’t smiling.

“You wait and see.”

* * *

 

Night came, and the people of the camp were gathered around the fires. Someone passed a bottle of whiskey. Johnny and Esmeralda sat side by side, listening to the tales going around the fire.

“Esmeralda, can’t you lift a fiddle and play for us?” someone asked. 

Esmeralda tried her arm and shook her head regretfully. “If I want to get blood all over the fiddle, maybe.”

“Shame,” said the man. “It’s awful quiet tonight.”

Johnny laid a hand on Esmeralda’s shoulder with a smile.

“That’ll teach us not to take nothin’ for granted in this life, eh?”

“Aye,” came the assenting voices, their heads nodding sagely. 

“How ‘bout singing us a tale, then?”

Esmeralda sat back, her eyes catlike as she gazed into the fire.

“Alright then,” she said, voice low and mysterious. “I’ve a tale or two.”

Then all the eyes around the fire were on her, eager and waiting. 

 

“There was a lady in her father’s garden  
When a gentleman he was passing by  
He stood awhile and he gazed upon her  
He said, ‘Fair maid, would you fancy I?’

‘I am no lady but a country girl  
A country girl of a low degree  
So, kind sir, you must find another  
For I’m not fit your wife to be.’

‘It’s seven years since I’ve had a true love  
Seven years more since I did him see  
And seven more I will wait upon him  
If he’s alive he’ll come back to me.’”

 

She sang through the rest of the song, silencing the entire camp, and when her voice faded, her audience murmured gladly and some wiped their tearful eyes. Johnny Dogs gazed at her tenderly, his heart touched by her sultry yet sweet voice. 

When she looked across the fire, she saw Aberama standing in the shadows, a faraway look in his eyes and a sad but proud smile on his lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Johnny Dogs is definitely top 3 characters for me, and I love the idea of him being a supportive partner who loves Esmeralda's independence. Aberama/Polly is also a guilty pleasure for me, so there will be more of that in the coming chapters! Please enjoy and let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Word of Tommy Shelby’s arrival spread through camp like wildfire. Tommy and Arthur hadn’t even reached the threshold of the ring of wagons before all the families were on alert. Johnny Dogs alone went out to greet him, old friends as they were. They shook hands and slapped each other’s shoulders with smiles. But Johnny quickly turned sober.

“Heard about John,” he said regretfully as they paced towards camp. “Fuckin’ shame.” 

Arthur’s face turned grim and Tommy gave a curt nod. 

“’Tis. Thank you, Johnny.”

“You’ll have heard about Aberama and his daughter. Caught up in the fray, they were.”

“I thought it was just his daughter who was caught up,” Tommy replied coolly.

“It was a bit of a fuck-up. That’d be the first time the prey got away from these two. Never seen it happen meself.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here to talk about.”

“Shouldn’t have fuckin’ happened to begin with,” Arthur growled.

Tommy and Arthur came into camp with quiet eyes tracing them. They found Aberama and Esmeralda reclining by a smoldering fire. Aberama was slowly polishing his rifle. 

“Alright, you Golds,” Johnny said amiably, “The delegation from Birmingham has arrived.”

No one was smiling. Esmeralda glanced up at Tommy with hard, uninterested eyes. Yet when Tommy’s blue eyes landed upon her, they flickered strangely before smoothly shifting to her father instead. 

“Mr. Gold,” Tommy said with a nod. 

“Mr. Shebly,” Aberama returned.

Tommy fished a cigarette from his pocket and lit it in the taught silence before continuing. 

“This your daughter?”

“This is Esmeralda.”

Tommy’s gaze was on her again. 

“I think I once made a rather crude statement about fucking your daughter, Mr. Gold. Isn’t that right?”

“That’s right.”

Esmeralda shot an angered look at her father, but Aberama didn’t take his eyes off Tommy. Johnny stood by uncomfortably, hands in his pockets and eyes hard. Tommy let his statement hang in the air for a bit before addressing Esmeralda directly. 

“You always help your father on hits?”

“We’re partners. Been helping him since I was old enough to understand death.”

“Oh, you understand death, do you?”

“I’d say I’ve got a pretty good handle on it, yeah. Shoot someone in the right place, they’ll die.”

Aberama gave a cool smile. “She’s grown up around death. I am her father, after all.”

“Interesting family tradition. That leaves me wondering how you fucked up the most important hit of your life.”

Johnny looked at her worriedly, his lips tight, but Esmeralda was ready for battle. She cocked an elbow on her knee and leaned towards her aggressor.

“Who’s idea was it to do it in the street, anyway? It’s a war zone out there. Can’t control a god damn thing. Especially not bullets flying through windows.”

“But you control your own bullet, Miss Gold. And that bullet is meant for the head of Luca Changretta.”

“He wasn’t even fucking there. That car was full of every Italian in Birmingham except the one you want.”

Tommy took a heavy drag off his cigarette. His blue eyes pierced through the smoke. 

“So if I tell you where he’s going to be, you’ll get him for me.”

“That’s what you’re fuckin’ paying me for.”

She saw Johnny look quickly at his feet to keep from grinning. Her father smiled openly. Tommy looked between them.

“Well. I suppose she doesn’t know who she’s talking to, eh?”

Arthur smoldered at his side. “She’s talkin’ to the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders, who it is,” he growled. 

“Mr. Shelby,” Aberama said smoothly. “Let’s call it even. You insulted her to my face, now she’s insulted you.”

“I didn’t think I had insulted her,” Tommy came back. “Regardless, I’m sending you after Luca Changretta. You can prove yourself or not.” He flicked the remains of his cigarette into the fire. “I hope you will. I’d like to see you again when this is over and we’re all still alive.”

Esmeralda just stared back at him in near disgust. His boldness was almost beyond belief. To speak with such directness in front of both her father and her lover was baffling. She looked quickly at Johnny Dogs and saw the hurt in his face. 

Tommy reached out his hand to shake.

“Shake my hand after I’ve killed the son of a bitch,” she mumbled, and turned back to the fire, lighting a cigarette with a match. 

“I’ll be in touch about Changretta’s whereabouts. Until then,” Tommy said abruptly, then turned on his heel with Arthur grumbling after him and Johnny reluctantly escorting them back to the edge of camp. 

When he was out of sight, Aberama merely said, “See. I told you.”

“Who the fuck does he think he is?” Esmeralda seethed. 

“The greatest scoundrel to ever come out of Small Heath.”

“Should have fucking stayed in Small Heath, then.” 

“You know what he’s doing?” Aberama said, slightly amused. 

“Sending me to my death?”

“No.” Aberama held up one finger, a smile playing on his lips. “Tommy Shelby’s angry. He knows he can’t have you. He thinks he’ll show all of us by sending you on a death mission. But there’s something he doesn’t know.”

“What’s that?”

“You can fucking do it. You can kill Luca Changretta. Without a doubt.”

Esmeralda’s cigarette dangled between her fingers as she thought. 

“Yeah. I reckon I can.”

“I know you can. Not just because I raised you. But because you’re talented. Tommy doesn’t know you like I do.”

Now she couldn’t help but smile. “So what happens when I survive and he still wants to fuck me?”

“Talk to Johnny. Not my business.” And he went back to polishing his gun. Aberama never got uncomfortable— he simply didn’t allow circumstances to bring him to that point. 

Esmeralda sighed and got up, sticking her cigarette between her lips.

“Thanks for believing in me.”

“I believe in my children. Who else will?”

She smiled again and went to seek out Johnny Dogs. 

When she found him, he was standing peculiarly alone at the edge of camp, leaning against a wagon and peering into the distance.

“Johnny,” she said gently as she walked up. 

“Hey, love.” 

“The fuck was that about?”

Johnny just shook his head. “Been standin’ here tryin’ to figure that out meself.” 

“Did he say anything to you?” 

“Not a fuckin’ word.”

“He does know about me and you, right?”

“Aye. He knows.”

She could see the pain in his eyes. Johnny and Tommy had known each other since they were children. It was sheer betrayal for Tommy to act as he had towards Esmeralda. 

“Tommy’s never gone after one of my girls before,” Johnny said. “Know why?”

“Why?” 

“‘Cause there’s never been one like you.”

Esmeralda took Johnny’s arm and looked him in the eye.

“You think I’d go with a prick like him?”

Johnny peered back at her, his eyes glittering.

“Nay. I don’t think you would.”

“He’s not my type at all. You know what kind of a man I like?”

“Tell me.”

“I like a man that winks. And smiles. And dresses like a real Romani— scarves and all. Not like those slick city folk. I like a man with some life in his face.” 

She put her hand to his cheek, and Johnny smiled into her palm. 

“Couldn’t lose you, girl,” he murmured. 

“You won’t. Dad believes in me.” 

“I know. So do I.”

* * *

That evening, there was another visit from Birmingham, though this one arrived almost silently, with less fanfare than the men who came before. She strode into camp at dark, wrapped in furs and a fine crimson dress, earning nods from the people gathered around the fires. She knew where she was going, and no one stopped her. When she arrived at Aberama Gold’s wagon, she knocked softly and waited. He opened the door in his shirtsleeves and vest, without a hat, and held out his hand to help Polly Gray step up into his quarters.

They sat together on the thick carpets over the wagon floor, Polly tucking her legs beneath her, while Aberama sat close by with his legs crossed. A lantern flickered between them, sparking in Polly’s dark eyes. 

“So,” Polly said, “Your daughter got to meet Tommy today.”

“Aye. And how do you think that went?”

A sly smile bloomed on Polly’s lips. “Oh, I can only imagine. Let me think. Tommy’s cock did the talking, and Esmeralda looked on in sheer disgust.”

“Your second sight proves itself once again.”

“Wouldn’t things between us be nice and neat if your daughter went for my nephew, while you and I…?”

Aberama just shook his head with a low laugh.

“I know,” Polly interrupted. “It’s not happening. And I don’t want it to. Tommy’s a bastard. He’s _my_ bastard, and I love him. But, Jesus.” She just shook her head with a sigh.

Aberama’s fingers found her soft hand. “The part about you and I, though…”

“That part is exempt.”

“Ah. Good.”

He stroked the back of her strong, finely shaped hand with his thumb, gazing at it ponderously. 

“Polly,” he continued, his voice low and confiding. “You have Tommy’s ear.”

Her face grew more serious. “I might be the only one who does, yes.”

“If you have any power over him, tell him to call off the hit on Luca Changretta. I don’t want Esmeralda going after that man.”

She looked at him with concern. “I thought you wanted this for her?”

But Aberama shook his head. “She wants to do it so that I’ll believe in her. But I believe in her already.”

“Of course you do. But Tommy’s scared. He’s not seeing straight. I don’t know what he’s liable to do.”

“You know better than anyone.” His tone wasn’t accusing; he said it almost in admiration. 

She took his hand in both of hers. Aberama’s hard, impenetrable eyes were wavering with emotion. 

“Your daughter will be safe. I can see that much.” 

Aberama only nodded, then leaned into Polly, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“Where did you come from, beautiful ghost?”

Polly smiled as she wove her fingers through his fine hair. 

“Everywhere and nowhere.”

He lifted his face to kiss her, soft and lingering, full of a passion deep as the ocean. 

“You’re doing the best you can in this world,” Polly whispered. “Don’t trouble your soul.”

“I won’t be troubled as long as you’re near,” he murmured, and fell into the kiss again, as he lay Polly slowly down onto his lush bed of carpets. 

* * *

 

Esmeralda walked along the edge of the camp at twilight, as darkness grew with every step. She smoked as she strode along the tree line. The din from camp faded behind her as she entered into the world where trees stood like guardians of the deeper wood. They almost whispered as she grew closer, warning or beckoning her to the ghosts within those woods. 

The stars came into the purple sky as she paused, cigarette crackling as she drew upon it. It was times like this when she fancied she was closest to her mother, in the liminal space between day and night, when the veil of twilight grew thin. She knew her father never really stopped thinking of his late wife, and neither did Esmeralda. Through all things, she was present with them. 

Esmeralda listened to the whispering in the trees. There was something that her late mother hadn’t possessed that Aberama’s new love, Polly Gray, did: the second sight, a trait that was shared by Esmeralda herself. It came in times of distress, and was almost debilitating when it did. There were moments when she couldn’t tell the visions from reality. They had never interfered with her job, as she sometimes feared they would. But sometimes, after or even before a hit, she would be stricken down by overwhelming visions that seemed to emerge from another world. 

So she took walks. She smoked. She spent time away from everyone, and they understood. They still loved her. Polly Gray had even helped her father cope with his daughter’s gift. Esmeralda herself didn’t understand it, but she was trying. 

Sometimes when she listened, there was an unearthly silence. She strained to hear her mother’s voice, but nothing spoke besides the wind. The breeze whisked away the smoke from her cigarette. The sky was dark now, and she could barely see the outlines of the trees. She visualized the man she was to kill; she could see his face clearly without having seen a photograph of him. The image lurked before her as she finished her cigarette, stomping it into the grass. Then she turned to head back to camp. There were people waiting for her. 


End file.
